Worth Fighting For
by SinsofMidnight
Summary: AU. Fayte has spent 364 days denying his shissou's demands for a good, hard fight. So what has changed so much that on day 365, he said yes? More importantly, does he stand any chance of surviving day 366? Albel/Fayte. Rated M because Albel is Wicked and the Destroyer is reckless.
1. Fayte

_Okay, so I can't seem to stay away from new fanfictions. Sue me. _

_Don't know why you would: I'm broke. Someone would have to give my finances CPR to_ possibly_ bring them back from the dead._

_Meh. Anywho, this baby is a three-chapter-and-Sins-no-longer-has-to-get-off-he r-lazy-ass story, so it will soon conclude -then I'll get back to my normally scheduled programming of the gayest Bleach fan-fictions this side of the nearest Senkaimon, the most ridiculous sick-fic to ever emerge from Saiunkoku, a stripper-fic to end all stripper-fics for Final Fantasy VII (and a just-got-out-now-what story for the same pairing), my fabulous Kingdom Hearts bar-crawler story, and my hard-knock life of Suzaku Kururugi for Code Geass... plus anything else I haven't mentioned ^^ _

_I just couldn't not write this ^^_

_Watch the chapter titles to see who tells that part!_

* * *

**Worth Fighting For**

**_Fandom:_**_ Star Ocean III: Til the End of Time_

**_Teaser:_**_ "Yet one fateful day in my nineteenth summer, I found myself standing outside a dojo watching a man with bicolor hair fight and fight and _fight_ as though his life depended on it. And that had been the first time I ever thought, _I want that passion_. "_

**_Inspiration:_**_ Way, way, way, way, _way_ too much Albel/Fayte fan-fiction. There's indulgence and then there's obsession, and I seem to be headed over the boarder right now…_

_This fic… well, I'm gonna go out on a limb and blame Ciissi, the author of the truly spectacular (Albel/Fayte) story entitled "The Sentimental Feelings". Since getting into this pair, she is my absolute favorite author consistently._

**_Rating: _**_M, because Albel is Wicked and the Destroyer is reckless ^^_

**_Warnings:  
_**_-Language  
-Albel being Albel  
-Denial  
-Apathy  
-Quirky humor  
-Piercings (because I like them)  
-Masochistic tendencies…  
-Tattoos (also because I like them)  
-Sexual situations_

**_Main Pairing: _**_Fayte Leingod/Albel Nox_

**_Minor Pairings:_**_  
-Nel Zelpher/Clair Lasbard_

**_Setting: _**_AU! A little dojo where Albel Nox is Shissou_

**_POV:_**_ Fayte and Albel, of course. First person perspective. Plus, there's voicemail tag used to tell a good portion of the story… simply for kicks and giggles._

**_Summary:_**_ Fayte has spent 364 days denying his shissou's demands for a good, hard fight. So what has changed so much that on day 365, he said yes? More importantly, does he stand any chance of surviving day 366?_

**_Additional ANs:_**_ There's hardly any AU stories for these two! I felt the need, mostly because I do so love this pairing. The idea really just came to me out of the blue, but I liked it enough to stick with it. Besides, it practically wrote itself …  
I'm super-happy with my interpretation of Fayte. I'm just not so sure I like how I wrote Albel… Eh. I'll get over it or I'll fix it later. Also, since this is AU, I took certain liberties (mostly with Albel, in fact):  
-Yes, I know Albel's arm is completely MIA in game, but for the sake of this fiction, it's just scarred, but still present.  
-Albel's usually outfit is a tad out of place in the current setting. So, his outfit will be changed some.  
-For reasons that are unknown to me and all fan-kind, I wanted to stick with Albel wearing purple. It'll show up in most of his outfits :P  
-Fayte's relationship with Nel… in this story, they're best friends (but I kept some age difference)  
-Nel and Ablel… they're "enemies" but they're rather amicable about it  
-I gave Albel a bit of an accent in this, mostly because in-game, he's from another world and speaks another language.  
Oh, and, of course, all phone numbers are completely fictitious… While I'm at it: it's frozen broccoli because it's more likely to be in my freezer than frozen peas.  
Don't expect to see much more on this pairing from me for a while… I have to familiarize myself with all of the shiny content about these two, not to mention I have… oh, 35 in-progress pieces at this point… I can't afford to be _too_ distracted by these two, after all…_

* * *

The dojo was surprisingly empty.

It was surprising mostly because _everyone_ had wanted to see this fight.

Then again, perhaps they weren't even aware.

* * *

That foul-mouthed, hair-trigger-tempered man had been egging me on since I'd first joined here. Albel Nox was his name, and like his name and the slight accent that added a bit of music to each of his words, he was utterly unique. Sometimes, that uniqueness showed in better ways but unfortunately, it was more common for his uniqueness to make all of the people around him miserable. Not that it bothered Albel any, really.

Albel was my shissou. I had never met anyone quite like him. Most people would agree that it's not usually a good idea to piss someone off before handing them a sword, but Albel-shissou wasn't most people, so it stood to reason that he made it his practice to do what others did not. I'd never seen anyone else fight like him. Moves that came off as reckless were practiced, precise. He fought like his life hung in the balance each time, like he was a mere inch from failure, but honestly, there was no one in this dojo that could beat him.

Shissou hounded me on a regular basis, pushing and prodding and shoving a knife in every tender little emotional scar I might have had. I wasn't quite sure as to why, only that I was the only one he treated this way. He wanted a fight, he wanted a challenge, he wanted _blood_, and for some reason, it seemed he wanted these things from me.

My parents hadn't believed in things like self-defense or fencing or out-and-out war, and they had forbidden me from involving myself with violence. As they had desired, I believed myself an utter pacifist since childhood. Yet one fateful day in my nineteenth summer, I found myself standing outside a dojo watching a man with bicolor hair fight and fight and _fight_ as though his life depended on it. And that had been the first time I ever thought, _I want that passion._

I'd joined the dojo the very next day, much to my parents chagrin. I didn't care: I lived alone, anyway, since they were both so busy with their research and experiments. The money and the time weren't an issue at all –I was the bored child of two of the richest people on the planet, and they rarely cared how I spent their money. I'm sure that at the moment I'd joined, nothing could have surprised me more than learning that the man I had observed would be my shissou. Somehow, I managed to take it in stride.

It had been only a year since then, almost down to the day. Albel-shissou –Albel the Wicked, according to the whispers of reverence from the other students– had demanded that I fight him from day one. I turned him down flat, stating that I had come to learn from him, not to have my ass handed to me. I still got shivers each time I remembered the anger that had flashed across his features at my refusal, but I had stood my ground.

Each daily visit to the dojo had begun with the same demand. And for 364 days, I had refused him.

For 364 days, I studied his form. My eyes traced his movements. I scrutinized the way he wore his long bicolor hair in twin tails that seemed to shadow his movements. I measured the accented cadence of his voice, the slight differences in his speech that made it all the more musical to the ear. Endless hours had been spent in an attempt to place the accent with the correct origin, but each attempt was met with failure. Carefully, I observed the flickers of emotions he quickly hid behind his mask of anger. I tentatively examined the anger that terrified and drove the others to learn, achieve, _fight_ like their lives were on the line. Without a word, I watched the way the ambidextrous man favored his left arm, an arm left horribly scarred from some incident we were never to ask about or speak of. I memorized the smirk he wore instead of a smile. I analyzed the pain he hid behind rage in his crimson eyes.

On day 365, I came to a startling realization: I had reached a point that lie beyond my initial infatuation with my shissou. I had _fallen in love_ with that damn man.

Half of that realization really didn't come as much of a shock. Women had always been pleasant enough to look at, but they had never captured my attention. In my limited relationships, I'd had much more luck with my own sex than with women. I'd learned that I much preferred the hardness of a man to the softness of a woman.

So, being in love with a man?

Not that much of a shock. My parents would probably be utterly horrified, but they would get over it. As for me, I was very okay with being in love with a man.

Being in love with Albel Nox?

That one hit a little harder. I would admit that I'd been quite drawn to the man from day one, but he was infuriatingly arrogant and condescending. His entire demeanor was in no way suited to teaching anything, yet still I learned. When I'd first seen him, I had fully realized the appeal of his body. His body was so lithe and muscular and graceful, his movements smooth and precise. He didn't walk so much as prance or dance, his hips moving in the seductive fashion I'd seen many a woman use –usually to no avail, since the sensuous swaying of those hips had never garnered my attention. Those rare crimson eyes held a somewhat disturbing gleam, but I could see them as a thing of beauty as well. But there were certainly more beautiful men in the world –and they all certainly had nicer demeanors!

It had taken me a bit to realize that the devil was in all of those tiny details I had gleaned from watching him silently, listening to the rasp of anguish that sometimes entered his voice, and, above all things, having the intellectual power to put together the pieces of the complex man. I'd studied him like he was an experiment in a lab –then I'd been foolish enough to feel for the pain that hid in the darkest shadows of his gaze and the smallest expressions that would flash over his lips before giving way to that ever-knowing smirk. Even more foolish still, I'd started to care about the man, and therein began my downfall.

* * *

When Albel-shissou made his usual demand yesterday, I went out of my way to look at him. When he repeated his demand, I shrugged.

"If that's what you wish, Shissou," I returned softly, respectfully.

It hadn't been easy to say 'yes' after 364 days of saying 'no'. That was the reason why, for the first time ever, he'd had to repeat his demand to receive an answer at all: I had simply been unable to push the words out the first time he asked. I'd looked to him for strength, in an odd sort of paradox, and I'd found it in that gruff voice as it repeated his demand. It took me no strength, no effort, to produce the normal practiced 'no', my cowardly escape from something I'd been deeply longing to see. What truly required fortitude was to be honest with him and with myself and admit that I wanted to be on the receiving end of all that brute strength and passion. Just… probably not in the way he wished me to be.

Had I been speaking to anyone but Albel-shissou, I'm certain their jaw would have dropped to the floor and they would have still been searching for a proper reply a week later. Since it _was_, in fact, Albel-shissou, his stunned expression flickered across his face only briefly before being contained and hidden by his practiced mask.

Seeing his reaction encouraged me to press forward. "Perhaps tomorrow evening?" I inquired. "I have classes in the morning, and I would hate to be too sore to attend, Albel-shissou."

He gave a single, jerky nod of agreement and moved on.

If the others noticed any sort of difference in him, they didn't let on. Yet, I noticed it, and I found it a bit worrisome.

By forcing myself to take a stand, had I disrupted the natural balance of things between my shissou and myself?

* * *

The day was long and arduous, if only because nothing seemed to matter aside from a fated meeting with my strangely patient shissou.

All of my classes were terribly boring. None of my friends could entice me into conversation, not even Maria who was often jokingly called my twin. Turmoil simmered just beneath the surface of my apathetic perspective, though it seemed that none of the people I surrounded myself with were even aware.

Nel Zelpher, the red-headed graduate student who was somehow a part of our rag-tag group _and_ managed to be my best friend, had proven my supposition quite incorrect when she slipped into the library study room I had reserved for the hour break I had between classes.

"Fayte, what's going on with you?" Nel inquired, her voice as smooth and soft as ever.

I cocked my head at her. "Nothing. Why?"

When those blue eyes focused on me, I knew without a doubt that she didn't believe a damn word I'd said. "Uh-huh. Out with it," she ordered.

Instead of using the hour to complete the research I would need for my next project, I sat down with Nel and told her the truth –but only because she'd knew me well enough to demand it of me. When I had told her everything, had emptied out my soul at her feet and rattled it around to see if anything still lingered inside, she seemed taken aback.

It took her a few moments to collect herself. Then she cleared her throat. "Fayte, there's obviously a reason you felt the need to keep this all inside. Can I ask what it was?"

I swallowed hard. "Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, Nel."

"And the training? Why didn't you tell us you were learning how to handle a sword?"

"It… I guess it just never seemed all that important."

She shook her head. "If you'd told me sooner, I could have told you that Albel the Wicked is quite famous. They say he's a modern day blood knight, Fayte. Someone as gentle as you really has no business fighting him. You _never_ should have accepted his demand."

I laughed feebly. After a year of having him as my shissou, I certainly knew I had no business fighting him. "I'm not going to fight him, Nel."

"What do you mean?" Her expression turned concerned.

"I'm not going to fight him. I can't. I am in no way ready to face an opponent of his level. A beginner, with a single year of training, against his master? That's preposterous: there's no way I would get out of that fight without a life-threatening injury. What I _am_ going to do, however, is probably several times more reckless and dangerous."

Her eyebrows nearly met her hairline. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to confess."

If I had told this to anyone else, I know they would have passed out at that pronouncement. Nel paled instantly but seemed in no danger of losing consciousness.

She blinked at me for a moment. "Excuse me. I must be going crazy. For a minute there, I thought you said you were going to confess to Albel the Wicked."

I gave her a wry smile and nodded slightly, as if to say 'That's because I _did_.'

"Why in the _hell_ are you going to do that? He'll chew you up and spit you out –or worse: he'll cut you to ribbons!" For someone who rarely raised her voice, Nel did it quite well.

"Look: I'm going to tell him. The sooner I tell him, the sooner he tells me to fuck off. The sooner he rejects me, the sooner I actually get to attempt to heal." I gave her a sardonic smile. "After he rejects me, I'll leave the dojo. This is the right course of action because it gives us both closure. If I just quit, I have no doubt he will hound me until I tell him why, anyway."

"What will you do if he doesn't listen to reason?"

I scoffed. "I thought you'd heard of him. Albel-shissou _never_ listens to reason. But he might listen to regret," I murmured.

Nel looked at me strangely. "What do you mean?"

I waved it off. "It's nothing, Nel. Thanks for listening."

She shrugged. "No trouble, but it still looks like you're headed for a great deal of it."

"I'm a trouble magnet. May as well get used to the idea."

* * *

So there we stood, alone in the dojo and staring at each other.

The dojo was surprisingly empty, since everyone had wanted see this fight. I'd finally given into Shissou's demand, but more than that, the other students acknowledged my surprising amount of skill. They were certain they would see an all out war between two skilled swordsmen.

Yet no one was here. I wondered if they'd even heard us arrange it. Perhaps Shissou had forbidden the attendance of gawkers. The notion seemed just contrary enough to have appealed to Albel-shissou.

After my classes, I normally changed into loose long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Today, as if to mark the extraordinariness of things, I hadn't bothered to change. I still wore comfortable army-green cargo shorts and a close-fitting black tank-top, and I'd come to terms with the fact I would probably be wearing the other sort of clothing to classes to cover up the marks. My sword was still sheathed, the scabbard resting at my feet and just beyond a comfortable reach. Standing just a few feet inside the dojo, I waited quietly and respectfully for my shissou to seek me out. I smiled slightly when he began to walk toward me.

Albel-shissou seemed to prefer to practice in the closer-fitting end of clothing the spectrum. Still, today's outfit was an abnormality, as well. He didn't even bother with a shirt –not that what he usually wore covered much– and his pallor was somewhat surprising. The dark ink of two tattoos provided stark contrast with the delicate paleness of his skin. One dragon seemed to rise over the jut of his hipbone on the left side and another dragon rose over his right shoulder to descend to his breastbone. The silver chain around his neck looked suspiciously like a choker-chain but my gaze abandoned it for another familiar gleam of silver –the barbell of his navel piercing. The small purple ball on the end made me want to smile. Tight black leggings incased his slender yet strong legs. Over all of it, it seemed he'd worn black hakema and kosode, but the kosode was held around his waist by the messily tied obi and he seemed to have abandoned the upper-portion. The scabbard of his beloved sword hung from the obi and close to his right arm. His arms were covered entirely, wrapped carefully with black strips of cloth that didn't seem to be tied off well but seemed to be holding. For a moment, I pondered the reasoning for completely baring his torso but covering both of his arms so artfully, but I discarded the idle curiosities in favor of paying attention to the dangerous man before me.

My shissou, surprisingly enough, studied me for a moment instead of chasing directly after my purpose in being here. "Why did you accept this time, little fool?"

As always, his accent added something _sensual_ to the everyday words. I wanted to laugh. "Why have you demanded a fight from me each and every day I show my face here?" I challenged instead of answering.

He shrugged. "You don't fight like someone with barely a year of training. You fight more like someone with around five years. I wanted to see how well someone with an abundance of natural talent could hold their ground against me. Why did you accept this time?" he asked again.

A noncommittal noise slipped past my lips. "Perhaps because it was my shissou's will." I allowed my eyes a moment to search his face. "If I fight you, you must swear that if I leave this dojo, you won't demand a reason of me, Shissou."

For once, he didn't even bother to hide his troubled expression. "Why should you leave, fool? Your skills are improving quickly here."

I gave him a tight smile. "If I leave, I won't be giving you a reason, Shissou. The reason won't matter, anyway. It will only matter that you swear not to seek one."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I leave and you don't get this fight." I shrugged.

A single brow arched. "This is an indulgence, little fool?"

"You might say that," I intoned smoothly. I just saw no need to inform him of which one of us, exactly, I was indulging.

"You expect me to agree to your terms?"

"You can teach a man to fight, Albel-shissou, but you can't force him to."

He growled at me, anger vibrating off of him in waves. It was clear that he didn't like being manipulated. Silence stretched out between us as my shissou weighed and pondered the options.

I wanted to sigh. I hadn't even meant to really fight him and now I'd managed to pin him like a butterfly in a shadow box. It wasn't right of me to manipulate him this way, but I didn't know what else to do. I simply could not bring myself to reveal my feelings to Albel-shissou. Not for fear of rejection –I'd already prepared myself for the inevitability of that– but for fear of humiliating myself in front of him.

With this fight, at least, I had a minor chance. Albel-shissou had never had any issue with my form or with my speed. I could fight and handle myself: it was the words that I was afraid of. I had no fear of the many ways his sword could injure me, but I had all the fear in the world of the emotional wounds his caustic tongue could cause.

This fight was not for a future with him: it was for a life without him. I was fighting for life in a way I'd never had to before. I was fighting for a chance to live without what-ifs or could-have-beens or should-have-dones. And most of all, I was fighting for the chance that we each might remember the other until the end of time.

"Fine, little fool: I will not seek an answer if you should disappear from my sight," Shissou finally conceded.

A faint smile pulled at my lips and I reached down and retrieved the scabbard at my feet, only to fasten it to my belt. "Shall we, then, Albel-shissou?"

He led me through a maze of hallways, then through a heavy door. To my surprise, I found myself standing in a field of tall wild grasses and pale wildflowers. I blinked for an instant, stunned to realize that this tract of land lay behind the dojo all this time and I'd never realized it before.

When my attention returned to my shissou, I realized that he had already drawn his weapon, a well-crafted tachi that he always kept a short distance from his right hand if not in that hand. Swallowing hard against the rush of sheer lust that had coursed through me upon seeing the longer Japanese sword in his hand, I slowly drew my own sword from its sheath. My sword was much more European in style –more like a bastard sword than a broadsword. A single-handed weapon seemed better suited to my style, anyway, not the hand-and-a-half weapon that my shissou wielded with a single hand and tremendous strength or the two-handed claymores or broadswords.

Slowly, I approached the middle of the clearing, careful to analyze the terrain as I went. All the good form in the world wouldn't save me from tripping over a boulder if I was unaware it was there. When I stood about ten feet from my shissou, I paused. Simultaneously, we bowed deeply then rose to our full heights.

I widened my stance and waited: I'd watched Albel shissou fight enough to realize he preferred to charge his targets first. When he did as I'd predicted, I moved away from the blade an instant before it arrived. Then I parried his thrust, forcing him back with strength I hadn't known I possessed. My eyes carefully followed the back-step he'd used to maintain balance. As I watched, he postured himself for the second attack, his back arching forward in a certain familiar way. I made speedy adjustments to my stance so that I could withstand and counter the strike.

The fight continues much that way. I would watch his posture, stance and movement carefully in order to know when to change or adjust my stance, counter, or speed away. Fighting my unpredictable shissou should never have been this calm and easy. Nel, who's merely _heard_ of him, had been worried I'd be cut all to hell by this man's blade, but had not a single scratch on me.

The answer came to me very suddenly: I had spent a year doing nothing but study how this man moved, stalked, talked, and walked. Was it so much of a wonder that I could read each move in his form before he even came at me?

"Little fool, perhaps you should participate?" Shissou inquired dryly.

I looked up quickly, meeting those crimson eyes. "Countering and parrying aren't participation?" I asked him.

"Very well, then. You're participating, but you're not making this interesting. You block all of my attacks competently enough: why don't you attack, yourself?" His tone was surprisingly warm and even, with a natural sort of cadence that seemed to soothe me –even when I believed I had no need to be soothed.

I stepped back and allowed the tension to ease from my body and my stance. There was a very specific reason I didn't attack him. Nel had been right: a person like me had no business fighting Albel the Wicked. I had no desire to hurt him or harm him, so any attack would be half-hearted at best and utterly useless at worst.

Still, if this was to be my last memory of the man, I at least wanted to make an impression. My first attack was swift and strong, startling my shissou more than a bit. I had known he would counter it, so my pride was in no way wounded by the fact my blade was nowhere near where the attack should have left it. Just as suddenly, I struck again. This brought me in closer to him, to a point where our breaths seemed to mingle.

I knew the counterstrike would come. I knew how it would arrive. I knew the exact place that would be vulnerable to it. Even more, I knew that I had the speed to counter his counterattack. My shissou was also well-aware of this set of facts.

So I watched the crimson eyes widen when his blade slashed open not only the shirt I wore but the skin of my chest.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice harsh and ragged. He made no more to resolve the almost awkward position we found ourselves in.

I gave him a sad smile but no answer as I sheathed my blade and brought one hand up to touch my wound. It was a bit deeper than I'd expected, but it wasn't something that I couldn't handle.

As some point, he must have wiped my blood off his sword and slid it into the scabbard once more. Of course, I was making assumptions, since the next thing I was aware of was when both of his hands were tightly holding my shoulders. "Why?" he demanded again, his voice sharper than before.

Unable to stop myself, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his chastely for an instant. When I withdrew, I wore the same sad smile. "Because I love you, Albel-shissou," I confessed.

He stared at me, completely stunned and eyes unseeing. He didn't notice when I slipped away and headed for my home.

As I walked home, I called Nel, since she was the only one aware of the whole situation. I was sent to voicemail, but it didn't really matter.

* * *

_"Hey, Nel. It's Fayte. I ended up fighting him, anyway, but I'm okay. There's just one tiny little slash across my chest, but don't worry about it: it's not all that deep. If I tell you not to stop by, you'd just do it anyway, right? Thanks for talking things over with me today. See you when you're done with classes?"_

* * *

_"Fayte, it's Nel. If you meant to make me worry less with that little message, you failed horribly. Just how big is this wound? I'll be over around 6:30, so don't do anything else reckless, alright?"_

* * *

_:) Aren't they so cute?  
_

_I know, I know: Albel is all OOC in there... It'll make more sense when you get chapter 2, alright?_

_It still needs some tweaking, but it should be up soon :))_

_Please review. I know this story is off-the-wall weird, but I'd still like to know what you think :)_

_Ever at your pleasure,  
~Sins~_


	2. Albel

_I know I said it needed a little tweaking... Mostly, I've got it done, so I thought I'd go ahead and post it. ^^_

* * *

I refused to act like a girl whose first kiss had been stolen. For one thing, I was very, _very_ sure that I was male. And that certainly hadn't been my first kiss.

Then again, it _had_ been the first time a man had intentionally taken one of my attacks across the chest. Even more, it had been the first time _anyone_ slashed by my sword had ever kissed my lips. And no one had ever in my life professed their love to me after doing either of those things, let alone both!

My mind could not get past the situation. I wasn't sure if it was the earnestness in those rich green eyes, the intent way he had always watched me, the way that barely-there kiss had felt like goodbye, or that sad smile he had worn as he made his confession.

I'd always liked the little fool. His movements were graceful and easy, he learned new things quickly, and he had no problem applying and using new knowledge quickly after learning it. He was quiet and seemed to understand that the role of a student was to learn from the master and not to try to defeat the master. It also helped that the blue-haired boy was no hardship to look at. If I were honest, I would have to admit that my eyes often traced his form for sheer appreciation instead of judging his abilities –but Albel the Wicked had no reason to be honest in such matters.

Yet despite the fact that he was one of my favorite students, I'd never even really bothered to do much more than properly learn his first name, which I had never used. Hell, I'd be hard-pressed to come up with it if the situation called for it! I only knew enough of the blue-haired young man to know him on sight –not just his body but his movements and stances and the way he swung his sword. He was a supremely talented novice who was surprisingly abundantly humble and respectful.

What _was_ his name, anyway? I'd written it not long ago –in the appointment book that the blond oaf in the office insisted I keep so that he knew where to find me if there was something I needed to handle. I reached out and grabbed the book off my desk, scowling when I realized that I would have to find the damn page since _someone_ had shut the book. Finally, I found the right page. My finger quickly traced down the appointment times until I reached '17:00'.

Fayte Liengod.

I would have thought I would remember such a distinctive name.

"Fayte Liengod," I repeated aloud, just to taste the name.

_Soft, trembling lips pressed lightly against mine…_

I shook my head vigorously, trying to clear it. Deciding to concentrate on something else, I woke up my computer. It took only three clicks to access the dojo's records. I typed his name in the search box, a little ashamed of the fact that the young man had been a _stellar_ student for about a year and I'd never bothered to learn anything about him.

The file it pulled up was far from comprehensive. All the basic information was there: full name, birth date, home address, and phone number. Someone had made note of the date he started training here and that was about it. On a whim, I printed out the record sheet.

I tried to convince myself it was just a teacher's interest in his student that made me do it.

* * *

Concentrating in the dojo had become impossible for me.

The ghost of a young man saw fit to haunt me in all corners of the building –somehow even in my _office_– so I had finally given up and wondered out into the back field again. Not that the memory of today wouldn't haunt me out there.

Still, I sat down in the middle of the trodden-on grass.

_My heart all but stopped in my chest when I realized my student's blood now tainted my blade._

_"Why?" I demanded harshly, knowing he could have blocked the attack. He was so fast –faster than I was! It should have been child's play for him. Hell, it should be _my_ blood on _his_ blade!_

_Wide, empty green eyes stared out at me and a sad smile made his lips its home._

_We hadn't made note of any rules when we'd come back, but it seemed we'd both assumed that first blood was the stopping point. I watched him slide his blade back into its sheath before bringing his hand up to touch the wound lightly, as though to test the reality of it._

_Using the hem of my shirt, I swiped the sanguine liquid off of my blade and sheathed it just as quickly. I couldn't keep myself from reaching out and grabbing his shoulders –probably a bit more forcefully than I had intended. "Why?" I demanded again, surprised to find myself so upset about causing a wound._

_Almost as though it were as natural as breathing, he leaned into me. Soft, trembling lips pressed lightly against mine in a chaste kiss that lasted merely a moment. Still, his breathing had escalated, and I found the warm puffs of breath somehow pleasant against my skin._

_Then he'd pulled away, the same sorrowful smile drawn across the lips that had been pressed against mine a moment before._

_"Because I love you, Albel-shissou," my student told me._

Since shaking my head to clear it hadn't worked for the last hour, I bit my lip instead.

Nothing quite like having the whole scene play out in your head.

It was funny: even in the moment, I had trouble comprehending what had upset me so much about seeing red bloom across his chest. Inflicting wounds was something I'd always been good at, after all. Remorse was never something that looked good on me. But when I looked over the whole scene again, I knew exactly what had been _wrong_.

Fayte had an opening. Not everyone could have taken that opening, but _he_ was capable of it. I knew it and he knew it. But instead of taking that opening, he had let my blade take him.

I didn't get him. His answer was "Because I love you," but what question was that the answer to? I'd asked him several questions, and he'd cleverly dodged the answers each time.

It finally dawned on me, and I sucked in a harsh breath.

Why had he agreed to fight me this time? _Because he loved me._

Why would he disappear from my sight? _Because he loved me._

Why wouldn't he fight to his fullest ability, even if the cost was a few drops of my blood? _Because he loved me._

I pulled my knees up to my chest and wondered if anyone else in my life had ever loved me that much.

* * *

_"Fayte Leingod, I believe love is a poor reason to quit something you're quite skilled at. If you're so stubborn about leaving _this_ one, I can give you the names of a few local dojos that at least won't be a detriment to your training. Call me back at the dojo, little fool."_

* * *

_"Nox, what in the hell? What in the fuck did you do to my best friend?! So he, for some demented reason, is in love with you: that doesn't mean you try to cut his heart out! You hurt him more and _I_ will cut _your_ heart out –if it even exists!"_

* * *

_"Zelpher, I shan't even ask how you got my number. I was just as pissed as you are when that _idiot_ neglected to block that attack. Besides, he didn't tell me he was in love with me until _after_ he kissed me, which happened _after_ first blood was drawn. So I wasn't trying to cut his heart out. But thanks for the idea. I think I'll try it on the blond oaf…"_

* * *

_"Nox, he needed _stitches_! _Seven_ of them! I thought you were his shissou, not his murderer! ... Wait, he actually freaking _kissed_ you?! Ugh, no accounting for his taste. Also, please don't kill your office aid: his sister will hunt you down, and she's meaner than me."_

* * *

_"Zelpher, have you ever _fought_ with him? He's faster than _I_ am. He should have been able to block the damn attack… Great, now I feel worse because he needed stitches. Yes, he actually kissed me. It was kind of adorable, in some fashion."_

* * *

_"Nox, he didn't tell me he was learning. Feel worse still because he refused to go to a hospital and I had to do it. Gods, I don't get him some days… Are _you_ sweet on him, too? Because that would just friggin' make this whole mess a hell of a lot easier to cope with."_

* * *

_"Zelpher, you are notoriously poor when it comes to needle and thread! Just remember: you're going to have to take them out, too, and that's going to be even _more_ fun if you managed to tangle any of your threads. No, I am not 'sweet on' that little fool. I'm allowed to think the 20-year old who _chastely_ kissed me is adorable, okay?"_

* * *

_"Ugh, Nox, don't remind me… That boy is over the moon for you and he didn't even use _tongue_?! I'm going to have to wake him up and beat him now."_

* * *

_"Zelpher, let the boy sleep. If you beat him, you'll have to give him more stitches and you won't be able to blame me. Oh, you want another fun little detail? He trembled the entire time. Like I said: adorable."_

* * *

_"Oh, _really_, Nox? _My_ masculinity is suffering now."_

* * *

_"His should be, too, Zelpher. How's Clair?"_

* * *

_"Fuck you, Nox."_

* * *

_"Maybe later, Zelpher. I'm tired. Or, make it worth my while and find out if that was his first kiss."_

* * *

_"…Nox, you suck. First one he ever initiated."_

* * *

_"Well, now, Zelpher. I am honored."_

* * *

_"Why don't you tell that to _him_, Nox?"_

* * *

_"Because he hasn't called me back, Zelpher."_

* * *

_"That's because he's _asleep_, Nox."_

* * *

_"Zelpher, I called him _over an hour_ before you called me the first time."_

* * *

_"Nox, he's _shy_!"_

* * *

_"Not shy enough to _not_ kiss his shissou, apparently, Zelpher._

_Voice mailbox full. Please delete or archive all heard messages._

* * *

_"You know, Nox, for people that hate each other, we sure call each other a lot."_

* * *

_"Zelpher, that's because the little fool finally gives us something worth talking about. Besides, we never answer the calls."_

* * *

_"You _do_ remember his name, right, Nox?"_

* * *

_"Yes, Zelpher, I remember his name."_

* * *

_"Prove it, Nox."_

* * *

_"Fayte. Fayte Leingod. Happy, Zelpher?"_

* * *

_"Not as happy as he'll be if he finds out you actually know his name. By the way, Nox, you wouldn't mind if I forwarded that voicemail to him, would you?"_

* * *

_"Why on _earth_ would you want to do that, Zelpher?"_

* * *

_Forwarded Voicemail Message:__ "Fayte. Fayte Leingod. Happy, Zelpher?"_

* * *

_"Fuck. Delete it. I mean it, Zelpher: it sounds weird with my accent."_

* * *

_"Hmm. Don't think I will, Nox. You want to tell me why you said his name like _that_?"_

* * *

_"Like _what_? …I like the kid, Zelpher. That doesn't mean I want to _bed_ him."_

* * *

_"…Nope, not going to get that message deleted, Nox. Try again."_

* * *

_"Pick up your _goddamn_ phone, Zelpher. You think I'm going to leave _another_ incriminating voicemail?"_

_Message saved. Other saved messages:__  
"Fayte. Fayte Leingod. Happy, Zelpher?" __Received at 8:45 P.M. on June 1__st__ from 867-6696._

* * *

_Here's hoping you liked the chapter._

_I'm really not satisfied with the way I wrote Albel here... Well, aside from Albel and Nel's round of voicemail tag! I loved typing that... It was originally supposed to be only two or three messages... but they ended up telling quite a bit of the story ._

_So, let me know what was bad, what was good, if you liked the voicemail tag, or if you just want the next chapter soon! But please review: reviews are encouraging and nothing makes me want to work on a story more than seeing it has a review!_

_Ever at your pleasure,  
~Sins~_


	3. Fayte Leingod

_Apparently I suck at staying away from this story. Ah, well._

_This is the last installment of this story. I may come back and tweak some of this latter, but it is complete as of right now. _

_I hope you enjoy~_

_Again, watch the chapter title to know the perspectives!_

_Hold on to your hats -there be sexiness ahead!_

* * *

I sat straight up in my bed, groggy and sore. I had no idea what had awoken me, but damn it anyway, this was one of my few days to sleep in! Laying back down and turning on my side, I closed my eyes once more. I'd almost returned to my dream world when I heard a hard rapping on the door.

Fucking hell. That had to have been what woke me up in the first place.

Whoever it was obviously wasn't going to go away or they would have done it long before they'd managed to wake me up. While I was normally a light sleeper, if I was hurt or ill I slept like the dead. Still groggy and unhappily awake, I crawled out of my bed, wincing at the way the motion pulled at the hasty home-done stitches. Figuring I wouldn't be able to stand having something against the wound anyway, I didn't even bother pulling on a shirt. Instead, I trudged to the door in nothing but a pair of loose, silky black pajama bottoms that I honestly didn't even remember putting on.

I yanked the door open the instant before the knocking completely stopped and was stunned to see my shissou standing outside my apartment. He was dressed rather casually, for once. The trendy black skinny jeans were a surprise. The skin-tight purple shirt was not so much of a surprise, since he always seemed to be wearing at least _something_ in that color. A black leather jacket brought the ensemble together well. It really wasn't fair that the damn man looked good enough to eat and I felt like shit.

Roughly pushing my hand through my hair, I forced my sleep-heavy eyes to stay open and asked, "What are you doing here, Albel-shissou?"

Never mind that, how in the hell had he known where I lived?!

For once, that smirk seemed one-hundred percent genuine. "You have a terrible best friend and I have a wonderful enemy, little fool."

I arched my brow at that. Was there a reason that he made them sound like the same person? "What makes you say that?"

"Well, first of all, she called me a total of… twenty times last night? And she told me when she was leaving this morning." The smirk somehow seemed to soften into a smile. "May I come in, Fayte?"

I swallowed hard. Gods above. He _knew my name_. I didn't mind being called little fool –it was no secret that he rarely bothered to learn the names of any of his students, and at least that label was the least insulting of the rest lot he tended to pick from. Yet, he knew my name. Not only that, the way he said it was a teasing caress all its own. The accent that could even make being called 'little fool' appealing did a number on my name, as well. He placed emphasis on the first part, which added another dimension of sensuality to a name I had never been quite happy with before. Surprisingly enough, I figured if he said it enough, I could learn to love my name –or turn into a puddle of mush. Perhaps both. "Sure, Albel-shissou." I was surprised I managed to speak at all without stuttering. Stepping out of the way without stumbling was another of the morning's small miracles.

When he slipped inside my apartment, he closed the door behind him. He reached toward my wound, but didn't touch it before looking up at me for a moment. "May I?" he inquired.

I nodded.

His finger lightly traced the ragged stitching. "Fucking hell. She really should have called Clair," he commented. "At least Clair isn't _completely_ useless with a needle."

Mental clarity seemed to come with the race of pain. Shissou knew Nel and Clair? Wait, so that meant that Nel knew Shissou? Hadn't he called her his enemy a few minutes earlier? I hated how my brain seemed to run at half time in the mornings, and having Albel-shissou near slowed it by half of what it remained. My brain was like a computer operating with only a fourth of its capacity, and it was more than a little disconcerting. The whole situation was still hazy without all the details, but some parts of it were coming in a clearer focus.

Tanned, elegant fingers gently touched the bruising flesh around the jagged stitching, as though trying to bring my attention back to him. "This is going to scar, probably more on the 'horrific' side of the scale," he informed me, his voice soft and soothing and almost musical to my ears. "Part of that is because the wound is deep. The other part is because Zelpher and needles don't mix well. If you would allow it, I can take out the stitches and close it myself. I'm much better at it than she is, mostly because I wouldn't let anyone else near my wounds and I had to stitch them all myself."

I'd never heard him reveal that much about himself in so short a time before. Despite the pain, joy bubbled just below the surface. Shissou was _talking to me_ and actually _revealing things on purpose_. But it was his offer that gave me pause. Surely, he didn't blame himself? "Shissou, you know that this wound is entirely my fault. Right?" My voice was small and timid.

"Hm. I wonder," he murmured, fingers still caressing the sore flesh. "I'm your shissou, Fayte. I'm the one who should know better." His eyes met mine. "Will you let me fix Zelpher's mess, at least?"

There was something horribly wrong with me. I knew it the instant I felt rays of heat in my blood from his fingertips on my wound. There was something definitely wrong. Getting aroused by the light caress of fingertips against an almost-open wound that was so fresh that the skin hadn't yet come to full terms with the amount of bruising it should have was _ridiculous_. Getting aroused when that same wound it touched by the very hand that caused it… well, that was more than ridiculous: it was fucking _insane_. Yet my realization of the… abnormal situation didn't fix anything. Neither did the way he said my name: that just made my arousal worse. Swallowing hard, I tried to ignore my improper physical response.

What were we talking about again? Oh, yeah. He wanted to fix my stitches. "Alright, Albel-shissou."

"How's your pain tolerance?" he asked off-handedly as he looked around my living room. Finally, he spotted what Nel liked to call my mini-hospital.

"Pretty high. Nel stitched me without numbing or anything."

He raised a brow at me. "Do you have anything that _will_ numb it? Because what I'm going to do will make it hurt worse."

I nodded slowly, wondering why his voice was only adding to my problem. "I try to keep things like that on hand for emergencies and the like. It should be in the case."

When he opened the case, he released a low whistle. "You could start your own hospital with this."

"That's what Nel says," I told him, trying not to laugh.

"Hospital-grade sutures? Geez, you have all of the _good_ stuff," he teased, pulling out what he would need to complete his task.

I laughed. "Mostly because I hate hospitals."

He smiled at that. "If it makes you feel any better, I hate them, too." His focus seemed to be entirely on the task ahead of him. "I'm going to remove the first set of stitches without the numbing agent, mostly because it's topical. You okay with that?"

I nodded slowly, wondering if the sharper pain would dull the desire roaring like a beast in my blood.

"Let's go to your bedroom. It will be easier if you're laying down and comfortable."

"Alright, Shissou," I responded, ignoring the fact my libido was screaming 'Yes, yes, _yes_!' at the mere suggestion of taking this man into my bedroom.

Surely this wouldn't all turn out to be a terrible mistake, right?

* * *

A few minutes later, we were situated in my bedroom. I was laying on top of my unmade bed, holding a bag of frozen broccoli to my wound because Shissou insisted that the cold would help numb the area without making it too greasy to work on –which would be the unfortunate specialty of the analgesic cream.

I sighed. "This is really _cold_, Albel-shissou."

"That's kind of the point, Fayte," he returned wryly. He shifted the bag, brushing it against one of my nipples on accident.

A startled yelp somehow escaped my lips.

I watched concern flicker over his face, followed by realization. But I _knew_ I was in trouble when all that remained was that wicked smirk.

"Hm… Fayte, you know you can just call me Albel," he told me, his voice throaty and seductive. The way he said his own name was… _different_ than the way anyone else did. Some sort of instinct made me believe that others mispronounced it. Yet when he said it, there was something unconsciously _sensual_ in the sound.

I shivered. "But Shissou…"

He pinched my nipple and I yelped again. "Say it, Fayte," he ordered huskily.

"Ah… Albel-shi–" I began.

He pinched my nipple again, rolling it slightly between his thumb and forefinger.

My eyelids fluttered shut and a moan escaped past my lips. "A-Albel…" For some reason, when I called his name, the 'a' didn't seem to connect to the other letters as quickly as it should, but it didn't seem to bother him any. It also came out differently, somehow, than when I paired it with his title. I'd tried to pronounce it in a similar fashion to his pronunciation of it. That I felt even a modicum of success warmed me.

Sharp teeth latched onto my earlobe and my eyelids shot open again. "Very good, Fayte," he praised, his voice a low sensual purr.

When his mouth dropped to my neck, I wondered what he was up to. His tongue flickered out to wet the skin before his mouth latched onto it. Tender nips and nibbles were accompanied by the taunting strokes of his talented tongue and suction. The noises that this attention wrenched out of me were small but embarrassing in their own right.

Withdrawing when he was satisfied, he whispered in my ear, "Your reward."

He returned to his earlier position, his entire expression practically reading 'business as usual' –well, all but for that lusty gleam in those crimson eyes.

Not for the first time this morning, I wondered what exactly had brought him to my door today. If that lusty gleam in his eyes had anything to do with things… well, I supposed I might be getting some very good news later. However, aside from that, it was sort of strange how quickly he could go from serious to lusty teasing and back again. It was the worst sort of whiplash I could imagine.

I wetted my lips with my tongue. "…Albel, I think that particular patch of skin is as numb as I can stand it getting."

As I watched, two emotions warred with his expression. His eyes flared wide with heat, while his mouth twitched with amusement. Amusement won out and he chuckled before removing the ice pack.

Still, he leaned in close to me. "You speak my name _exactly_ the same way you moan it," he whispered, his voice husky.

I'm certain my _entire_ body blushed from that statement.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the scissors.

The process of removing the original stitches and replacing them with smaller, neater ones was conducted entirely in silence. Neither of us dared to even look at each other's faces. The aftershocks of pleasure from the previous encounter only seemed to sharpen with the addition of the newer, fresher pain. I was relieved when it was over, mostly because I'd spent the entire time he'd been stitching the wound taking deep breaths to force back moans and mewls of pain-pleasure.

He was collecting the supplies when I spoke. "Albel?" My voice was small and quiet, like a timid whisper, yet I still knew the instant he heard me call his name.

There was a soft, guttural sound, and then each and every item he'd been collecting fell to the floor. "Fayte," he growled a mere instant before his lips collided with mine.

Our first kiss had been a chaste pressing of lips that lasted only a few seconds. Our second kiss started with open mouths and went from there. Teeth clicked forcefully against each other, tongues warred for dominance, hands fisted in hair and bed sheets. His tongue slid against mine before shifting to swirl sensuous designs on the roof of my mouth. My moan was loud and it embarrassed me, but it didn't stop my hands from trailing down his back and anchoring themselves to the curve of his hips.

When we separated, we were both breathing hard.

"Gods, you have no _idea_ how delectable you look," he breathed out harshly.

"Then devour me," I challenged. "Devour me, Albel."

The noise he made in the back of his throat had me squirming eagerly against him as he leaned in to kiss me all over again. When he wasn't moving fast enough to satisfy me, I met him halfway there and kissed him myself. He tasted so _good_, like something sweet and spicy and dangerous and exotic. One taste would never be able to satisfy my craving.

He kissed me like he was trying to reach my soul through my lips. The message they were to convey was far from tender. Eager, wild and hungry, yes. Tender… not so much. He pinned me to my bed, careful not to jostle the wound he'd just finished patching up again, and pressed his hips flush against mine.

A low keening noise slipped past my lips as our arousals collided. Albel's back bowed backward for a moment and the look on his face made me wonder if he'd encountered divinity. I wasn't sure which I wanted more: that expression or his undivided attention. I settled on his undivided attention and ground my hips firmly against his as I panted against his lips for breath.

He swore hotly, taking care to pin me more securely beneath him before turning his attention to my neck. A soft kiss was pressed to the place he marked earlier before his lips pressed against my pulse point. I was sure he could feel every pounding beat of my heart through the skin. Shifting slightly, I gave him better access to the skin he sought. He then proceeded to kiss and nip and mark every last inch of my neck, until I was moaning and helplessly rolling my hips in a vain attempt to reach his.

He chuckled soft, teasingly, then kissed his way to my collarbone. I felt his eyes on my body –more specifically, on the wound he'd just stitched. Imagine my surprise when he pressed the gentlest of kisses against the still inflamed flesh! My breath caught in my throat and I felt my heart try to squeeze more beats into a minute. He kissed the length of the wound tenderly, then turned his attention to the nipple he'd played with earlier.

The pad of his finger ghosted across the skin that still seemed to burn from the previous attentions it had received. A soft keening noise escaped my lips and a soft smile pulled across his lips again. Then those lips pressed a kiss to the puckered flesh and I squeezed my eyes shut as though to try and contain the moan that tried to bubble out of my throat. A taunting flick of his tongue left me crying out helplessly with no thought in my head but the desire, the burning _need_, for more.

Fingertips brushed the trail of bluish dusting of hair that trailed first down to my navel, then to the waistband of my pants and beyond. Those clever fingers traced the rim of my navel in a teasing fashion and I felt as though my body should begin to tremble at any moment. As the suction at my nipple increased, I barely noticed when his hand trailed lower and untied the drawstring of my pants. When he moved his attention –and his mouth!– to my other nipple, my back arched toward him of its own accord, as though to offer the rest of me for such teasing.

Feeling as though I had let myself get too swept away by him, I trailed my fingers down his back. I wondered absently when he'd shed his jacket, but the thought quickly dissipated as I slid my hands under the purple shirt to stroke his spine and leave claw marks down his back. The hiss he released only spurred me on. Eagerly, I eased the tight shirt up under his arms and allowed my hands to slide around to caress his pectorals and abdominal muscles. I gloried in each tremor and flex of the muscles beneath the warm silken skin.

The moment he made skin to skin contact with my arousal, my body seemed to go on complete strike at a groan rolled out of the back of my throat. None of my limbs would obey me, but it didn't matter to me when that warm hand wrapped tightly around my cock.

That cocky smirk was back, but I figured he had rights to it, considering he had me completely under his spell and unable to do much more than writhe in pleasure or beg. The first few strokes were almost tentative, though I personally would have pegged them more for taunting than hesitation. Then his hand was gone –busy dragging the pajama pants down my legs.

Utterly bare before him, I was embarrassed by how aroused I truly was. The pain and the pleasure and that _voice_ had all contributed to my state, but my cock dripped copious quantities of pre-come and he watched me. Those eyes scanned me from head to toe, focusing of things like my flushed cheeks, my well-claimed neck, my wounded chest, my abused nipples, my navel which he'd so enjoyed, and finally my cock, standing proudly at attention in perverse imitation of a soldier. Yet it was that pleased expression on his face that made it tolerable –still embarrassing, but tolerable.

When he moved away from me, for an instant I thought he might just leave me this way, panting and needy and desperate for even the lightest of touches or the smallest amount of attention. I realized I couldn't have been more wrong when I watched him pull that purple shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. Easing myself up and noting absently that the wound didn't pull nearly as much, I leaned forward and unbuttoned those tight pants. The zipper was next. Albel watched me with a small smile as I carefully eased those tight-as-hell pants down his hips. He chuckled and climbed off the bed to prove himself incredibly proficient at ridding himself of the remaining garments. Leaning back, I watched him with a smile, even as he climbed back on my bed –back on top of me.

Some sort of delicious sound tore forth from him the moment both of our arousals met skin to skin. I moaned into the contact as well, distractedly reaching for the drawer of my bedside table. Somehow, I wrenched it open and grabbed the appropriate bottle –just in case. Neither of us had said quite where this was headed, but it seemed headed toward sex and fast.

He looked up at me, a question in those lust-hazed crimson eyes that I just couldn't ignore. With a weak smile, I tossed the small bottle of lube to him. His reflexes had been honed in sword-fighting: I had never doubted that he'd catch the bottle. I was just worried that I would catch flack because it was vanilla scented. Yet it seemed that he'd only focused long enough to assess what the substance was, not to bother with scents. When that corded muscular slid down my body, I groaned at the beautiful friction and mourned the loss. Still, I knew what he was up to when he settled between my parted legs.

I heard him open the bottle, heard the squelching sound of the substance being squirted out. With a tentative fingertip, he smeared the cool gel around my opening. I tensed –fucking _hell_ it was _cold_!– then forced myself to relax a bit. When a slick finger pressed against my entrance, it slid inside with relative ease. He wiggled the finger around, trying to coat my insides, trying to find that spot.

Closing my eyes, I concentrated on breathing while he stretched me. The motion felt familiar, the fullness allowable, the stretching only slightly painful. When he located his earlier quarry inside me with two fingers, my eyes flew open and I cried out loudly, my hips subconsciously thrusting against his fingers. I'm sure he grinned at the response; his fingers certainly picked up the pace and hit that same spot again and again. When that third finger joined the pair, I moaned at the sense of fullness. I could feel the heat in my cheeks and the restlessness of the man preparing me. I was stunned when he turned his head and bit the inside of my left thigh as he worked those three fingers in and out of my tightness. I was more stunned yet by the fact his name bubbled past my lips at the sensation, my brain filing the painful bite under 'pure pleasure' instead.

I hadn't thought that things could honestly feel any better than that: the delicious fullness, the pleasure, the way his touch made my mind swim in haze. Yet when he replaced his fingers with his cock, stretching me out more, feeding the pain my nerve endings failed to interpret correctly, sliding slicky inside of me… I thought I could die from all the sensations.

I'd had sex before, multiple times with different partners. Never had it felt this overwhelming, this amazing, this decadently sinfully perfect.

When he began to move, I thought I could touch paradise and clasp it in my arms. Hell, I thought I already had! My legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling each thrust deeper and deeper into me. my arms were wrapped around his neck, my mouth embracing his. Each panting, shuddering breath seemed to make everything all the better. Each growl and cry and whimper and mewl, each name and endearment and whispered promise, each thrust and stroke and touch of sweat-slick skin seemed to heighten the pleasure. And the feeling was mutual.

When I came suddenly, I cried out for more of him against his lips, spilling my seed between our bodies. My muscles clenched tightly down on him and he managed only a few more thrusts before emptying himself inside of me.

All the tension in our bodies leaked out and he fell forward against me, panting against my chest as he tried to catch his breath. I finger-combed his soft hair, still breathing hard myself. Absently, I wondered how long it would take him to catch his breath and pull out of me. Surprisingly, I hoped it would be at least a few moments, because I liked how connected I felt to him this way.

When he drew out of me, he surprised me by collapsing beside me and almost half on top of me. He looked to me, his expression absolutely blissed-out, then closed his eyes. I couldn't help but smile. It took a little careful maneuvering, but I pressed a kiss to each closed eyelid.

My own eyes caught on his left arm, the arm we were never supposed to ask about. To my surprise, he'd left it bare today. He _never_ left that arm bare. Curious, I stroked the skin gently. When he didn't jerk away, I continued my careful exploration. Upon closer examination, I realized the scars were from burns –severe ones, by the looks of things. I wondered if he could even feel my touch or if the nerve endings had been burned away. The thought saddened me, and I stroked the skin a little more firmly.

A single crimson eye opened and looked at me. "What?" his tone was soft, interested. It contrasted surprisingly with the image the man liked to project.

Deciding heavier things could wait until later, I decided to ask a question that had been nagging me for a bit. "I know I'm going to regret asking this, but how is a hickey a reward?"

He chuckled. "You don't brand that which you do not own or have no desire to own, Fayte."

I blushed severely. That was certainly an answer –and not the one I'd been expecting!

Only one day ago, I had convinced myself that I was fighting for a chance to live without him. Now I knew with certainly that I had been fighting for the only man I'd ever met who was worth it.

Albel Nox was a man worth fighting for. I'd know that from the beginning. I'd just never expected to end up with him.

When I leaned in and claimed his lips again, I felt his lips curve against mine and wondered how anything could be better.

* * *

_"Mister Leingod? This is Cliff Fittir at Elicoor Dojo. I hate to ask, but have you seen Albel today? He hasn't been in his office for a few hours and yours is the only appointment marked for today. Anyway, please call back when you get this message."_

* * *

_"Mister Fittir, This is Fayte Leingod. I have seen Albel-shissou this morning. He kept his appointment with me, but unfortunately, he ended up having to administer a bit of first aid to an injury I received yesterday. We got a little off track, and we still have a bit more to discuss, but Albel-shissou should be back at the dojo before one o'clock. He asked me to apologize on his behalf if his absence has been worrisome or inconvenient."_

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this story!

I couldn't resist those last two messages~ Hope they amused more a than just me~

Let me know how you liked the story, please!

Ever at your pleasure,  
~Sins~


End file.
